I Drive Your Car
by jojospn
Summary: Inspired by Lee Brice's "I Drive Your Truck." Tweaked a bit to fit the Supernatural verse. I know I said I'd kinda lay off on the angst, but after hearing that song, I just had to post this. SPOILERS for Seasons 3 and 4. Hope you enjoy!


**A/N: This is inspired by Lee Brice's "I Drive Your Truck." For the sake of Supernatural, I naturally tweaked it a bit so that the car in question is the Impala, but it's basically the same premise. I know I said I would ease up on the angst, plus I have a request, but I just had to write this one. Hope you all enjoy, and have lots of tissues ready! This is a tad A/U, as in the series, Sam had always driven the Impala from the moment Dean died, but in order for this fic to fit the song, I did a little more tweaking, so that Sam never really drove it that much. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters. I also do not own Lee Brice's "I Drive Your Truck." For entertainment purposes only.**

**I Drive Your Car**

I sit in the passenger seat, the window rolled down, cruising along a back road a few miles north of Lawrence. It's fitting that I should be here, where it all started, just a half hour or so from the house we spent so little time in. This car was our home for so much longer, but as I approach the city limits, I feel that it seems just so, you know, _right._

I keep driving, passing that city limit sign, flipping through the channels on the local rock station. I've never liked that stuff, Dean, but lately, I find that I just can't really listen to anything else. And then "Stairway to Heaven" comes on, and I want so badly to shut off the radio; I just can't listen to it, you know? It hurts too much. But instead, I crank it, the window rolled down, the summer wind blowing. And to my surprise, I find the music to be somewhat soothing, considering the numbness I have felt the past few weeks.

For the most part, I have been hell bent on revenge. To the point where I would team up with a fucking demon to bring you back. I know you'd have been pissed, Dean, but what was I supposed to do? Leave you to die, rotting in Hell, while I do nothing? _Nothing!?_ Ruby told me up front that she couldn't save you, but she could do the next best thing. And so I teamed up with her. God help me, Dean, I teamed up with her. I was saving people; and that felt good, Dean. More than you can imagine.

The Impala usually sat in a storing garage. Don't worry; I dropped in to check up on her, keep her clean, tweak the engine a bit to make sure she still purrs like a kitten. But every now and then, when I feel like everything is going to crash and burn, I get behind the wheel and drive your car. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for a quick ride around the block. At first, it hurt like hell, Dean. I'd promised you I'd take care of her, but I just couldn't bring myself to get behind the wheel. Your scent was still there, those boxes of crappy mullet rock tapes in the dash, the feel of my hands on the wheel…it reminded me too much of you. It was damned ghoulish.

But then, after a while, it got easier. And now, there's no pain when I drive your car, just memories of the years we had spent together in the front seat of that old '67 Chevy. The pranks, the playful arguments over the music, those beers shared on the hood… that time you'd shown me the ropes, how to take care of her, months before….well, you know. But most of all, I remember those clear nights when we'd just park it and gaze at the stars, saying nothing, and yet everything in those moments. I know we'd never always seen eye to eye, and sometimes, you downright pissed me off, but those moments between hunts were some of the best memories of my life. We just sat there, being brothers, and for just a few hours, we'd leave our fucked up lives behind.

I pull over, turn off the radio. I cry, feeling the release in the tears that I have never felt with Ruby. After these weeks of feeling dead inside, it feels good to indulge. In the distance, I hear crickets singing, their voices carrying in the soft, summer breeze. It's a clear night, and I think there are a few bottles of Bud in the backseat…

I know that in a few hours, I'll be back to the man I really am. The one willing to do all it takes to bring Lilith down, and if I die, well, then at least I'll be going down swinging, the Winchester way. But every now and then, I have to do it. I have to feel that sense of normalcy, to at least try to act human. And so I drive your car.


End file.
